Dragon Lady
by BettieNoir
Summary: Xellos journeys to the tiny village of Rhiannon’s Green to investigate a malevolent spirit that had been haunting the village for years. On the way he meets Filia on the same mission. The spirit is tied to them personally and now they must put it rest.


Dragon Lady  
  
By FinixGrl  
  
Prologue: A Legend  
  
There once was a monster that was proud of his evil ways and was sent to a lone country to destroy a village to please his master. And at this time he pondered of his ways, of the righteousness, of the meaning. This he pondered as he walked the long winding road instead of teleporting. Down the dusty paths and past the old oak tree. Than past a cottage and towards the river for he knew that to reach the village, you only need follow the river. But before he could take one step past the river, he saw a beautiful mortal woman fetching water. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. She had hair the color of corn during harvest and eyes like the sky that held the sun. Her skin was slightly tanned and she introduced herself in her lovely voice as Augustine. She rose from her kneeling position and dried her hands on her white apron.  
  
The monster's life changed forever when she looked into his eyes. She brought him home to her cottage. Her family lived in the woods far from the village. That night, he had dinner with her family and the night after that and the night after that. Her family was kind and Augustine was not only the most kind and beautiful girl in the village, she baked the best apple pie too. Slowly, he found himself hopelessly in love her. For long nights, he debated if these feeling were love. Usually such feeling disgusted him but with her it was a whole other feeling. Completion. Peace. When he looked into her face, he saw youth and purity he never encountered the likes of before. He wondered what his master thought of the whole affair.  
  
He finally decided to tell her after seeing her in her pretty brown dress, ruffles and apron, dancing around the fire on the night of the Full Moon Festival. She was twirling and dancing about and around. Whirling and twirling and raising her hands and it seemed as if the fire moved with her and around her. The redness twisted and writhed and she spun and she danced so close, he was afraid her skirt would catch fire. Suddenly, she saw him and stopped immediately, slowly walking towards him. Her misty eyes had reflected the bonfire.  
  
Her hair had floated around her. The briars that crowned her head accented her lips. She smiled. Than he realized that he did love her, that all he wanted was to be in the dark and silence in peace with her. All they needed was the overwhelming silence and deadness. All they would need was an endless night. For her to smile for him and only for him. He wondered what his master thought of that. He pondered this that night as he sat beneath the tall oak tree. At last, he found the courage to tell her he loved her. He told her in front of the wise oak tree. The night was wonderful and soon, the birds would return from the southern parts. The moon was waning. He held her hand and she smiled. When she smiled he felt as if something he lost long ago has been restored to him. She touched his cheek and told him she loved him as well. Her parents rejoiced. They did not care that he was not like them though they did not know that he was a monster. They wanted Augustine to be happy and understood. They wanted to help build them a cottage right beside the sturdy oak tree. The village celebrated their engagement. The noise echoed from the village into the forest. He wondered what his master thought of this. Two nights before their wedding, there was a small but happy festival. Augustine served her famous pies there. And he smiled lovingly at her as she rose from the table; face flushed and slightly tinted like apples. After a while she pulled him aside to the riverbanks, the place she met him, and she kissed him on the forehead. She told him how happy she was. She whispered that she was tired and began to walk home. It was dark and there was only one star and the moon in the sky to light her way. She left with her things and some pies toward her family's cottage. His master called the monster at that moment and he did not accompany her home. Against his judgment, he waved farewell to Augustine. Farewell beloved Augustine. Innocent, guiltless Augustine.  
  
When he reached his master's lair he found that his master denied calling for him. He swiftly returned to the village slightly suspicious and worried for his mortal bride. He went back and to his horror, Augustine was not home nor was she at the festival. No one had seen her last night. In fact, he was the last person who saw her. The next morning, Augustine could still not be found. He was frantic with worry. He was pondering this with an apple in hand when a shrill scream cut the tense atmosphere like demon fangs on a maidens flesh. Floating in the pond, a mile beyond the place they met, they found her basket. Fallowing a trail of blood and apple pies they came to the ghastly oak tree. Lying beneath the tree was her corpse, mutilated and tortured beyond recognition. It hung by the neck on a silken rope that hung with finesse upon the sturdy branch of the old oak tree. The villagers claimed they searched that area a dozen times and were baffled on why they hadn't seen her or her basket earlier. You see some of his enemies, other monsters, had ambushed her on her way home.  
  
They buried her on the originally blessed day in her wedding gown in back of the withered oak tree. The monster lost himself in his grief. Her family did not blame him but pitied him and tried to comfort him. But he had willingly thrown himself into his sorrow over his poor, angelic Augustine. And he looked with love upon the face of the corpse that once bore the name and yet could no longer be recognized as his once beautiful Augustine. And the villagers looked with disbelief upon the corpse that once bore the name and yet could no longer be recognized as their perfect Augustine; the pure and blame less Augustine. He left the village that night after her funeral. He did not teleport but walked by the river, into the woods, past the dusty path and down the long winding road. There was only one star and the moon to light his way. He did not immediately go home. First he stopped to the lair of his enemies and disposed of them slowly one by one. He knew he had disobeyed his master. He cared not what his master thought of this. Their howls of pain lasted for nights. The owls hooted in return, sitting on the branches of the old oak tree. From that night on, the smell of apple pies, the sound of the river rushing past the banks and her specter like form; sometimes the corpse, sometimes the image of her when she kissed his forehead plagues his waking and sleeping moments. The image might have changed from time to time but she was always accusing, always staring, glaring and singing, sighing in his ear, whispering secrets and curses. Even though he was a powerful monster, he could never figure out of the specter was truly her spirit coming back because she was angry with him or if it was his mind and grief creating images that beckoned to him and seduced him. Though seeing her form gives him guilt, unrest and unhappiness, it is the only way he can see her now that she is dead and he cannot imagine his life without them now. And she will be there when he looms in the mirror and there when he turns to his side in his bed. She is there when he opens his door and there behind his seat as he sits and drinks his ale.  
  
And the sad little village you silently ask? Years have passed. The blood from her corpse still stains the terrible oak tree bark red. The tree is known as a haunted place. Her little cottage has long since been abandoned and forsaken. They claim they still hear howls in the middle of the night. And the horrible shrieks of Augustine, the doomed and tortured Augustine. And sometimes, when there is only one star and the moon in the sky, sometimes people still see her ghostly form walk past, coming home from the river and they hear the merry festival and see the glimmer of the bonfire. They say she smelled like apple pies. 


End file.
